


Bipolar

by SockWantsToDie



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Coping, Difficult Decisions, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Fridge Horror, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Harm to Animals, Men Crying, Mild Gore, Not Canon Compliant, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Relationships, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SockWantsToDie/pseuds/SockWantsToDie
Summary: ⟦Henry Bowers x Genderless Reader⟧It was just gonna be another late night of barely any sleep and a bunch of time to think about absolutely nothing. Or at least it seemed that way before Henry showed up at my window in the middle of a meltdown.





	1. It's been a long night

Yet again, I force myself to change positions so that I could find a more comfortable one to fall asleep in. It feels like exhaustion and emptiness are the only true feelings that register in my tired brain as I tug my blankets over my head so that the minor moonlight streaking in through the curtains stops bothering me. But even as I bring my knees up to my chest and hug my pillow, it doesn't seem to make me want to fall asleep any faster. Which is what brings me to once again roll over; this time in a bit more of a defeated manor.

The blankets are left in the dust as I kick them off of my body and opt lie on my stomach. I lick my dry lips as I hook my arms underneath the pillow and bury my face in it. Without my prior consent, my heavy eyes glance up at the [color] clock on my nightstand and read the digitized lettering that displayed "Sunday" along with today's date alongside it. Not to forget that "11:57 p.m." was placed right underneath it, the numbers practically ready to flicker to 11:58 at any second. I release a gentle sigh and take a moment to squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can, maybe even organize my racing thoughts. As my body stills and relaxes against the mattress, I manage to catch wind of the familiar sound of tapping on my window.

Tap, tap, tap,

My eyes crack open, now blurred by exhaustion. I do my best to mentally assure myself that none of the boys would be visiting at this hour, and that it was just that fucking branch from the large oak tree on my front lawn. I bury my face deeper into my pillow and curl up once more, letting mybody shift so that I laid comfortably on my side. Quietly, I allow my eyes to droop once again.

Tap, tap, tap,  
Tap, tap, tap, tap,

**_Tap. Tap. Tap._ **

I let out a few curses as I finally push myself upright and swing my legs over the edge.  _It better be the branch_ , I tell myself, _because if it's Richie coming to raid my kitchen again he's dead_. I ignore the uncomfortable feeling of my bare feet touching the cold wooden floor and stand up. It didn't take long for my body to go into autopilot and carry me over to the window. The tapping was rather aggressive now, and I was sure that the window was going to shatter if I allowed it to go on any longer. With a sleepy yawn, I scratch my itchy head with one hand and busy myself with pushing the curtains aside with the other.

_**Tap, Tap** — _

_CLICK_

I unlock the window with a swift and practiced flick of my wrist. I didn't exactly have much time to lift up my own window, because the hands reached down and yanked it upward before I could even begin to tug it off the windowsill. Out of pure reflex, I step backwards, almost tripping over a discarded shirt as the figure tumbles into my room with a start. Panicked, I shush the figure and go to help them up, only to have my hands almost instantaneously swatted away the second I gripped the strong upper arm of the figure.

"Don' –  _Don't fuckin' touch me!_ "The voice of Henry hisses at me

 I retreat to my original position of standing and opt to leave my arms at my sides. Still tired and confused, I watch the silhouette that I now knew to be Henry as he swiftly pushed himself up to his feet. The scent of sweat and disgustingly boisterous B.O. fills my nostrils as he dusts himself off haphazardly for a moment, before taking a few steps over to the window in order to shut it rather harshly. I reach my hands out in an effort to convey my urgency as I let a quieting 'shh' slip through my gritted teeth.  _This retard is gonna wake up my family if he keep banging around like a gorilla in a cage,_ Is all I could seem to think.

Henry visibly tenses up as I shush him, and swiftly whips around after he finishes locking my window back into place. I can see the abnormal redness that painted the tan skin of his face as he glared at me with knitted together eyebrows and a dark sneer. With his right hand, he gripped the dusty top of my window in a deathly hold, whilst the other he kept clenched into a tight fist that trembled from the tightness of his hold. Confused, I continue to stare at him, noticing that it wasn't just the balled up fist that was shaking, but rather, his entire body. His entire body was trembling in a harsh and aggressive manor.

"Henry– It's late, What—" I start off, racking my brain for words

"Shut up." Henry abruptly interrupts

I watch him as he begrudgingly releases my window and instead opts to wrap his arms around himself in a very tough guy manor. On one hand, I was actually slightly astonished and utterly dumbfounded by his aggressive behavior. But on the other hand, I was incredibly unsurprised, Henry always had been hotheaded and he was known for what an asshole he was. So, fuck, I was pretty 50/50 I suppose. I raise my arms up and rub my sleepy eyes, taking my time with rubbing them. I was too tired for this bullshit. Softly, I let out another yawn before finally lowering my hands back to my sides to stuff into the warm pockets of my fuzzy black and blue plaid pj pants. I allow my shoulders to slump comfortably before I finally take a moment to listen in on his heaving and his panting.

"What are you even doing in my house?" I ask, almost solemnly "It's like, so late."

For once, Henry doesn't even bother to give me some sort of response. No, instead he just tugs my curtains back together so that everything in my room was cloaked further by even more darkness. I just silently eye him as his tense shoulders finally lower themselves to a more comfortable position and his heavy breathing grows softer, though it still remains uneven. I uneasily tap my foot, patiently waiting for a snippy comment to be fired back at me at any given moment, but all I can seem to hear in the rough silence that fell over us, are soft sniffles.

Henry finally turns back around to face me and I manage to finally acknowledge the messy locks of brown hair that protruding off his head in a variety of weird ways. I cease my tapping rather abruptly and release a single hand from my pocket. His stench assaults my nostrils and prompts me to cover my nose with my shirt as Henry lifts a single arm to reach behind his head, presumably to scratch an itching spot.

"I need to stay for a little bit." He says in a scarily soft tone "Don't have a cow or anything."

An eyebrow raises upward, though he can't exactly see it in the shadowy dark of my room. I purse my lips for a moment, before finally finding the words that I wanted to use.

"Why would I have a cow?" I question

"Just—" Henry sucks in an abrupt breath as his voice cracks "Just  _don't_ , okay?"

Without knowing what else to do, I reach out to touch him, maybe place a hand on his shoulder. But Henry was too quick and too stupid to realize what I was trying to do— _I_ was too stupid to realize what I was trying to do. Shit, do I even know what I was trying to do in the first place? Henry shuffles away from my window and I, and makes his way over to my bed. Ungracefully, he stumbles about in the dark, his footsteps barely even there as he walks, which is something that I had never noticed about him; how light-footed he was.

Henry stops beside my bed and for yet another moment, everything is silent. I listen as he knocks my lamp off the nightstand, barely managing to catch it as he curses and hisses. And I listen as he places the damn thing back up on the stand and tugs the cord down. I cringe and look away at the sudden sight of light assaulting my vision, but do my best to blink away the pain so that I could successfully see the room around me. Sure, it takes a few minutes more than it should, but I managed to stare into the room without my eyes stinging and aching. I blink a couple more times and rub my eyes yet again, before I finally catch a glimpse of our friendly neighborhood skull-smasher.  _Holy shit_ , I mentally respond almost immediately. But, my physical response takes a bit longer than that, perhaps a few seconds, possibly a few minutes. Either way, my eyes widened in surprise all the same.

"Hen...ry..?" I ask, almost unsure of the person standing in front of me

For the first time in what felt like years, Henry didn't have some sort of jacket on, nor a shirt for that matter. But that wasn't what shook me to the core. What shook me to the core was the varying bruises and scars that littered his back, most of them rather obviously belt shaped and all of them at different stages of healing. Slowly, he twists his body so that he could look at me, giving me some form of a side-eye that reminds me of a wounded animal begging me to help it. Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks as he watched me with gritted teeth, his face riddled with shame and embarrassment as he finally turns himself around, drawing my attention to the thin scars that decorated his arms in sporadic and rather messy clusters.

"Don't have a cow." He mutters out, weakly

I honestly couldn't believe it. This boy that stood before me now, was _not_ the Henry Bowers I grew up with. This wasn't the ruthless monster that destroyed random kids throughout Derry, Maine every day in order to release his rage. What stood before me now, was a  _stranger_.

"I just need a place to stay the night." He continues, his voice cracking once more "Your place was the closest besides Vic's. But I can't let the guys see me like this."

I remain rooted to the spot, completely frozen in place whilst Henry explains himself, not bothering to mask the pure desperation that dripped off of his words. Henry fucking Bowers, a menace to society, a bully, a monster, a psychopath, now stood there beside my bed, in front of my nightstand, shaking in his boots like a little boy lost in the woods. Something awful must've happened to mess him up this good.

_But what?_

I blink owlishly, before glancing down at the floor beneath me as it finally clicks in my tired brain.

It was his dad, most likely. It  _had_ to be.

I feel Henry's gaze leave my body and finally look up, watching him as he tries to busy himself with looking over the various pictures and posters I'd put up that he'd seen a million times before. I watch as he turns around the room, having gone back to hugging himself as he visibly grows more and more anxious. But on the other hand, I did forget to give him an answer. Instead, I just wrapped an arm around my chest, and gripped my upper arm as I brought my fingers to my lips, taking my time just anxiously chewing on the nails that I'd been accidentally growing out once again. This was all so difficult to process.

 _Fuck_ , _fuck_ ,  _fuck!!_   What do other people do in this situation? Am I supposed to, like, hug him or something, like in the movies? How do I make him stop crying? What do I even do with all this newly acquired information? His dad beats him? I knew he was afraid of his dad but, like, this is a whole new level. What if it's not even Butch? Wait, if it _is_  Butch, then who do I go to? Who can I tell? Does he want me to tell someone? Why couldn't he just go to Vic's house?? Make it Vic's problem for fuck's sake! He can comfort people better than I can! Or maybe even Belch. Belch has his shit pretty together. He gave me a hug once, didn't he? Like, when I got him a car-warming decoration for Amy?

The frustration begins to build alongside my anxiety as I find my thoughts endlessly spiraling in a downward tornado that descends through a fiery quicksand sinkhole that leads into Lower-Hell.

I think my mom hugged me once, when I was small? Is a hug gonna do something for him? Maybe calm him down? Or maybe that was a dream. Was—

"You gonna fuckin' say something or what?" Henry suddenly snaps, bringing me out of my daze "You keep fuckin' staring at me!"

Henry eyes me in a warning manor as tears continued to trickle down his cheeks in a much more aggressive manor than before. I finally feel myself snap out of my thoughtful daze and straighten up, letting my arms drop back into my pockets as I tear my gaze away from him.

"Sorry, Henry." I apologize "I was thinking."

"Yeah, sure." Henry scoffs "Fucking whatever."

Henry walks back over to pass me once again, only this time he bumps shoulders with me. It was a small action, that finally managed to get me to wake up completely, and finally shift over into my much more defensive persona. I watch him after steadying myself from my backwards stumbling, noting how he harshly brushed my curtains aside, nearly tearing the rod down as he went to unlock my window and pull it back up.

"Hey!" I exclaim, still trying to keep my voice down "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere's else." He replies, harshly

"What do you mean  _somewhere's else_?" I question, my tone equally harsh

"It doesn't fucking matter. Fucking forget it. Forget I fucking showed up. Forget it." He snaps

Henry fumbles with the lock in a fluster of tears and anger, coming damn near close to breaking it as he struggles to get it open. My legs finally unbuckle themselves and I go into autopilot. I roughly, but still quietly, thunder over to him with only two steps and grab his upper arm.  _It's just like that time that the guys and I had to pull him off that freshman who bumped into him at that one party_ , I told myself,  _I just gotta do what I did then_. Before Henry can once again recoil from my touch, I manage to get one good tug in to drag him away from the window.

"Get off!" He exclaims

Henry goes to throw a wild punch at me, and I barely manage to avoid it. I release his arm as he stumbles a couple steps forward, his body trembling even harder than it had been as he releases a few hiccups and sobs. Now at a loss for what to do, I panic. Awkwardly, I fling myself at him and hook my arms around his neck, barely managing to  _not_ send the both of us onto the floor and myself personally into a very long grounding that would barely even last two days due to inconsistency. Not wanting to look Henry in the eyes, I bury my face in his shoulder and do my best to ignore the disgusting aroma of sweat and pit stink that was strong enough to make my face crinkle up and my eyes water. Henry doesn't know how to react to this, and opts to place his hands on my hips as he tries to push me off.

"Get off a' me! Fucking get off!"

He continues to repeat the phrase over and over again, the message remaining clear but the tone and words being used adjusting only slightly before he finally lets his voice crackle.

"Just get off," He hiccups out " _Please_  let go."

Henry remains awkwardly hunched over thanks to my tight grip around his neck. His chest stutters against mine as he finally lowers his head in defeat, letting his forehead touch my shoulder. All of the sobs he'd been holding in for God-knows how long finally get released as he breaks down against me. So, I just remained there, holding onto him in an ironclad grip, once again frozen in place as I try to register my actions. I let out a restrained noise as Henry wraps his arms around my back in order to squeeze me as he sobs into my shoulder. But still I stand there, trying to figure out if I should say anything as I feel my shirt sleeve growing damp with tears and snot.

But, just as I finally prepare to mention it to him—to finally say something, Henry places a single hand on the back of my head and adjusts his hunched over position. I can hear his back cracking in response to his actions, but only because it seemed that by this point he had gone quiet. He lifts his head up and rests his chin on my shoulder as his grip on my [hair length] locks tightened to a point where it began to sting. 

"You tell anyone about this," He begins darkly, now sounding like himself "And I'll kill you."

Henry lets my hair go and finally pushes himself upright and off of me. It was something small, that prompted me to finally let him go.

"You have a funny way of thanking me." I comment

I watch Henry as he twists his body away from me and rubs a single puffy eye with a loose fist. I reach up and tug at a dry spot on my sleeve, turning my head as I tug it outward so that the small bit of snot can enter my vision. I cringe in disgust, but try not to focus on it as I gently release it and glance over at the clock on my nightstand. It now read "Monday" along with today's date, and "12:29 a.m." underneath both things. Okay, yeah, I could get a few hours in, just gotta... fuck, what do I do now? I glance over at Henry, scanning him from head to toe as he once again busies himself with looking at my posters and pictures. 

"So," I trail off, gathering his attention "You mentioned spending the night?"

Henry shrugs gruffly and replies to me with a small grunt before he scratches the top of his head. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that when he glanced at me for a brief moment, he looked slightly offended over the fact that I would suggest such a thing. But, he was probably more annoyed that I'd seen him at his weakest.

"If you stay, then you can take a shower." I slip in, "It'll help you feel better."

"What if I don't want to shower?" He mutters, childishly

I purse my lips and inwardly clench my teeth. If I had to take care of this asshole, after he showed up out of the blue and forced me to comfort him, then he was gonna fucking shower. Silently, I glare daggers at him and he simply glares back, challenging me with his eyes. After a moment of mentally running over my options, I finally break eye contact and make my way over to my dresser.

"I don't have any underwear, but I do have stuff you can change into." I tell him

 _Henry shouldn't mind not having underwear_ , I assured myself,  _Since he doesn't seem to wear any anyway_.

Wait,  _ **what?**_

Not paying attention to him, I open the bottom drawer, which had a few shirts and a single pair of pants that I'd taken from my Dad on days when I had been waiting for my laundry to be done. Quietly I rummage around, looking for those specific items and release a small victorious exclamation when I finally pull them out. I clutch the blank, white T-shirt and baggy grey sweatpants in separate hands as I stand and turn. Henry watches me with crossed arms and a frown on his face whilst I just return him a small smile that I hoped conveyed my message of " _I'm fucking crazy and if you don't shower I'm gonna show you how crazy I am_ ". Thankfully, it seems that he gets the message when I chuck the clothes at him and he catches them both.

"Fine." He tells me "Fucking  _fine_."

I shoot him a victorious grin as he makes his way over to my door, and it doesn't go away until he's shut my bedroom door behind him and presumably headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Exhaustion once again kicks in as my face drops back to its resting emotion, emptiness. Tiredly, I turn my attention back to my open dresser drawer and focus on tugging my shirt off. Grossed out, I drop it in the [favorite color] hamper that rested between the wooden dresser and my bookshelf. I rub my tired and droopy eyes and bend down, grabbing the first shirt I see and pulling it on. It was a purple shirt that didn't have any specific design to it, it was just as blank as the white shirt I'd given Henry.

 ** _Henry_**.  
_Henry_ ,  _Henry_ ,  _Henry_ ,

" _Henry shouldn't mind not having underwear?_ " Am I fucking serious right now?

Tiredly, I raise my hands and rub my imaginarily sagging face. I still needed to get sleep, I think the sleep deprivation is really starting to screw with me. Henry is gross, I literally just had to convince him to take a shower. Do I really want that? Do I  _really_  want to hit that? Am I  _sure_? My legs carry me over to my bed and plop me down on it. In a defeated manor I roll over onto my bed so that I could properly lie and successfully pull the covers over my body without much effort. I release a soft yawn before I roll back over to the edge of the bed and reach up to shut the light off.

_Click_


	2. Wake the fuck up

_Click_

My heavy eyes threaten to crack open as the lamp on my nightstand clicks on and a hand firmly places itself on my shoulder, shaking me. For a brief moment, I almost consider forcing my eyes open, to see what Henry wanted now, but I wasn't anywhere close to ready to give up on the bittersweet dream I was having. Plus, the warm blankets weren't exactly making it any easier on me.

"Wake up." I hear a voice whisper

I listen to the a small groan in response that slips out as I make an attempt to roll over, perhaps even tug the blankets over my head. But, Henry seems to have committed to waking me up. He lets out an agitated huff, before giving me a single harsh shove towards the edge of my bed. Out of reflex, a sharp yelp escapes my lips as my eyes snap open. Before I go ungracefully falling out of bed and landing at Henry's feet, I manage to catch myself on my metal headboard with a single flailing and uncoordinated hand where I tug myself back up to a balanced laying position. Now tired and admittedly frustrated, I finally sit up and turn around, rubbing my groggy eyes as I stare at him.

" _Whaaaat?_ " I ask, moaning in frustration

Henry wipes off the blank expression on his face and immediately paints over it with scrunched up eyebrows and a small frown.

"Well fuck, forget it." He mutters

I stiffen as Henry  _yet again_  tells me to forget whatever it was that he was pissed about. Henry moves to climb over my blanketed form. He probably already decided at some point while I was out that he was going to sleep in my bed with me, or perhaps just completely take over my bed and force me onto the couch downstairs. Or, maybe I could try sleeping on one of the two bean bags in the corner. Well, probably both of them, I don't think one would really let me stretch out all that much. Hell, maybe I'll just say fuck it and sleep in the desk chair. I think Vic's done that a of couple times. As this daze of thoughts takes me over, Henry makes his move climbing over me, effectively snatching my attention away from the cushion-y black desk chair. In all sincerity, despite how angry he sounded before, his movements are very clear to reflect something completely different. His careful movements are cautious and gentle, which keeps the large mattress' creaks and groans down to a barely-there squeak that only _I_ ever seemed to notice. The frame responds with the same volume of creaking, but that thing was always quiet. His eyes avoid me as he focuses on the opposite side of my body, staring right into the [color] sheets like they'd murdered his family. I take a moment to watch him as he moves, his movements just as quiet as when he walked across my floor earlier, both down the hall and throughout my room. It's so bizarre, I honestly could've sworn that he's usually more thunder-footed.

Henry makes sure to climb up to a sitting position in the barren area of thin [color] sheets, where my heavy [color] winter blanket didn't reside and take up the comfy landscape. He takes a brief moment to reach down and gather a fistful of the heavy blanket into his bony hands. You know, so that he could lie down and extend his lower half underneath the fluffy material, allowing the blanket to encase him just as it did to me. Henry makes sure to lie down facing the wall,  seemingly ignoring my very existence as his rustling dies down and the room goes quiet. I patiently wait for a moment, debating as to whether or not I should shut the light off and go back to bed, leaving it all alone for the night. But, I guess he'd had a really rough night. So maybe this was something to be expected? Should I apologize for snapping at him?

Quietly, I suck in a breath, letting it come through my teeth and enter my lungs as I blankly observe his still frame.

"I'm... sorry." I abruptly apologize, cutting through the silence with my minor hesitation "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Whatever," He replies, weakly dismissing my apology

I bring my blanketed knees up to my stomach to rest my light arms and heavy head atop it. Silence falls once again as Henry continues staring at the wall, and I continue eyeing him.

"Do you.. want me to stay?" I question

I truly expected an immediate no to leave his lips, which would leave me to abandon the warmth of my covers so that he could have his space. But Henry didn't do that. He visibly tensed up at my question, going from boy to statue in seconds, as if I had just given him the ultimate verbatim of horrible verbatims. I can barely see the way he purses his lips together, or if he does at all, simply due to the fact that I can only see the corner of his mouth shifting. Henry doesn't answer me for a long time, I don't know exactly how long, but it felt like ages before he finally said those two little words that made me question the reality of the entire night.

"Could you..?" He asks in reply, his tone nothing more than a gravely whisper

It took a moment for me to process his words, a moment too long, most likely. Perhaps the sleep deprivation had truly gotten to me this time, I had thought to myself as I witnessed him curl up beside me, his body lightly shaking as he assumably began to shed tears once again, due to whatever tornado was going on inside of him and his brain. I dumbly listen to his quivering breaths as they enter and exit his lungs, and examine his miniature meltdown, once again at a loss for what to do. Do I hug him again? Do I have to? Should I just leave him alone this time? Maybe I could just..- Awkwardly, I lower my legs and lift my arms and head. I turn my body and lean over, resting my weight on a single arm so that I could reach out more easily. With my dominant hand, I lie it on his shoulder, petting it in a curious and unsure way. I had no idea what the flippity fuck I was doing, I mean, what even  _is_ comforting people????

I jump for a split second the second that his hand that had originally gripped his upper arm, snakes out from underneath the blankets. It overlaps mine, stopping my confused petting as it just rests there, consuming my colder hand with new warmth. I lock up everywhere, rooted to the spot like an old tree as my eyes flicker back and forth from the hand to his face. He doesn't even look away from where he stares at the wall as he just allows the tears to leak down the side of his face and onto one of my pillows in a messy manor.

Henry's eyes flutter closed, his wet lashes painting his cheeks as tears leak out the corners of his eyes in his silently weeping. But I continue to stay still, my eyes darting back and forth from the hand on mine and his face. I suppose I was watching over him in some sort of way? I dunno, I don't really like that idea. I'm not exactly the best person for that situation, and it's a bit strange considering he just showed up out of no where. My thoughts race out of pure confusion, awhile ago I was forced to hug him into submission, but now he just immediately accepted my lame attempts at stopping his tears? My arm grows to tire from continuously supporting my weight, and soon enough begins to ache. All the while his breathing begins to even itself out as the tears slow to finish flowing. When his hand finally droops from mine and gently plops itself beside his loudly snoring face, my arm shakes and threatens to give out. After a short period of processing, I finally retract my hand and sit up off of my arm. I take a few minutes to grasp the edge of my blanket, holding it up so that I can scoot back under and rest my head on my pillow. It takes a few minutes before I get comfortable and warmed back up, but I still manage.

"Night Henry." I whisper, before reaching up and shutting off the light.


	3. I'm tired, Henry

I walk across the dirt, continuing to marvel at the sky-high grass and plant life surrounding me. Sure I'd been in this place for awhile, but it was still so beautiful! Maybe falling into that sinkhole at the junkyard and being forced to drink that shrinking potion to survive wasn't such a bad thing after all? I mean, that caterpillar should probably stop smoking so much weed before he damages something. But other than that, he and everyone else are pretty rad.

Humming to myself like a Cinderella trashcan as music plays in the background, I sway and dance around in the water of the lake-sized puddle, washing the dirt and pot smell off of me.

"Hey," A soft, gruff voice suddenly greets me

I spin around, eyes flickering from place to place, slightly surprised and startled at the sudden noise. Upon spotting what I assume is the one greeting me, I begin to stare confusedly, as I sink into the water, the music now gone and my out of character singing silent. There before me resting atop a large lily pad I don't remember previously being behind me, sat a rainbow colored frog with freaky dead fish eyes.

"You need something?" I ask

"Wake up." He tells me quietly, now annoyed

Suddenly, my body begins to jerk and shake in random and frantic motions against my will, making my limbs look like what happens when you get stuck in a wall in a video game. I glance around frantic, confused, and freaking the fuck out as my limbs do things limbs should not be able to do.

"What's happening to me!?" I screech

"Wake up." The rainbow frog repeats " _Wake_  up."

My eyes crack open a bit as the hand gripping my side continues to shake me awake. I murmur out a small explanation of 'no' to Henry, simply telling him that I'm not gonna get up again. However, my slurred and mumbled words seem to fall on def ears, since I only get to be shaken harder. I close my eyes and curl up into the bunch of blankets in front of me, hiding my face deeper in the [color] heap. Weakly, I reach behind me and swing my open palm around as I curl up further.

Just 15 more minutes of sleep, I just fell asleep like 3 minutes ago.

"If you insist." A deep, nasily voice that most certainly does  ** _not_** belong to Henry Bowers tells me

A lighter is flicked on inside of me, setting all of my senses on fire the second I hear him speak to me. Suddenly, I feel him taking my lazily waving hand into one of his. His palm is clammy and cold, but not as cold as his rings. But I shouldn't be surprised.

No, what I should be surprised about, is how he was currently  _in my fucking house_.

Now on the defensive, my eyes snap open as his long, slender fingers intertwine with mine. It was something so little, but it gave him the advantage he needed in order for him to nearly dislocating my arm with an overexaggerated yank. At the speed of light, I grab onto one the metal bars of my headboard with my free hand just before it's too late. I really wish these motherfuckers would stop trying to give me concussions by dragging me off of my bed. I liberate my hand from his burning grip and pull myself back onto the bed.

"Mornin' sunshine!" He cheers

Stress that I hadn't previously acknowledged pours out of me almost immediately as I stand up on my mattress and spin around. I shrink away as best as I can, practically hugging against the wall with my back. Honestly, I probably looked like I'd just eaten every lemon on the tree out back when I got to glare swords and daggers into the greedy green eyes of Patrick Hockstetter.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I snap, practically screaming

"You're the one who offered, [Nickname]." Patrick teases

My body shakes with hatred as I consciously stalk up to him, on the verge of drop kicking him into the next dimension over, even though I absolutely loathe touching him. However, a certain Criss boy managed to insert himself between Patrick and the bed, forcing Patrick to take a couple few steps back. Although, this doesn't help us to take our eyes off of each other as we silently wage war through our eyes. No, not until he inserted something else into my vision.

"Here." Victor tells me

Now with Patrick mostly gone from my sight and this object in my face, I'm forced to pull my head back and re-focus my vision. It takes a moment for me to finally realize that it was a cup he held in his hands, a coffee cup that was very obviously from the local coffee shop. Which was not just obvious solely because of the label they printed on the sides of their cups in that fancy handwriting they seemed to be seriously addicted to. But because it was literally the only coffee place in town. I accept the cup, feeling the cold touch of the ice and the chilled brown liquid inside. It was nice that the boys finally remembered my order, since they always seemed to "conveniently forget" that I prefer iced coffee that's [bland/overloaded with sugar and milk]. I take a sip from the straw and climb down from my bed.

"Thank you," I murmur into the straw

"Yeah, it was no big deal, really. Only took time out of my day and everything." Victor mutters back

I pause and turn back to him, the lighter inside me flicking closed as I tune out the elephant in the room that now appeared to be beside him from where I was positioned. My [eye color] eyes flicker from his frowning face to the coffee in my hand, to which I lift up just a bit for a better pointless angle. With a small shrug, I bring it back down and take another sip before continuing to make my way over to my large wooden dresser. I stop in front of the long piece of furniture and gently place the beverage on top of it, letting it co-exist with all of my knick-knacks and books. I bend over, setting to work on digging some clothes out, since Belch was most likely going to start honking for me soon.

I tug out a random pair of socks and drop them onto the floor beside me carelessly. My ear involuntarily twitches as Victor replies to my actions with a small passive-aggressive grunt that signaled he was rolling his eyes at my disregard for cleanliness. Now pausing my movements, I blankly turn my head to glance at him to check to see if I was in fact correct. Sure enough, there he stood, turning his head to look out one of my windows as he crosses his arms over his chest. It was really the little things Victor did when I was pissing him off that honestly made me want to go on living and not just fall into a 44 year hibernation, even if I probably seriously needed it at this point. Quietly, whilst skillfully avoiding even so much as looking in Patrick's direction, I turn my attention back to my drawers, focusing on rummaging through my shirt drawer for a moment before I pulled out a random grey shirt. After casually dropping that on the floor as well. Now with Victor's internal screams to guide me by acting as background music for my montage, I continue to dig out some random jeans that are more distressed than Victor, and underwear. No with my outfit for the day all thrown together, I finally turn, making sure to drop the clothes into the small pile I'd created. I choose to face only Victor, so that I don't accidentally pop a vein.

"I need to change." I deadpan

A deep scowl replaces my blank expression the second I hear Patrick sucking in a deep breath as he prepares to challenge me. But thankfully, more for his sake than either of ours, Victor grabs him by the back of the collar of his coat and drags him out of the room. Patiently, I wait with my hands flat against my sides and my eyes following their miniature journey of thundering across my bedroom floor over to the door. Despite their loud footsteps being the norm, it still managed to remind me of how much I'd thought so much about Henry's much quieter steps. Which prompted me to throw a glance over at my empty bed out of reflex, just before the door managed to shut behind the two boys. Of course I'd watched Henry leave last night through the window, whether he realized it or not. Which definitely meant that there were no doubts about the reality of him showing up. But, it was still weird to watch him go. He moved so slowly and with a patience that I never had known he'd possessed. It was around the time when the color of the sky was beginning to lighten that he'd begun to lift the covers off of himself so that he could begin his slow descent off of my bed. Even as his feet touched the floor, his footsteps were still just as soft as they had been the whole night as he snuck over to the window. It was strange that part of me had something of a urge to do something, to stop him from leaving and going back to that house. 'Maybe he wouldn't come back out of that house one day,' I had thought, 'and that would be it, that right there would just be the end of Henry Bowers.'

I reach over to my dresser for my coffee, my eyes not moving from the bed as I pick the beverage up and take a few unconscious sips. 'Maybe he'd end up as another name under the bridge,' I continued grimly, 'or another missing person's poster.' A small frown makes it's way onto my face as I finally turn back to my dresser, where I once again place the coffee. Depressing thoughts of his demise continue to run through me as I go about stripping out of my clothes from the previous night and, embarrassingly enough, the entire weekend. The cold air around me is not nice about touching my exposed skin as I try my best to quickly re-dress into the outfit I'd chosen. It was just another downward spiral of thoughts, like it usually was whenever I thought about something. Sure, Henry really  _had_ showed up at my house like that, like a hot mess. Well—a hot mess having a meltdown. Henry Bowers, a hot mess—a  _hotter_ mess than normal, having a meltdown, in my house— _in_   _my room_ , at sometime in the late, late night, going all the way into the early, early morning. But, as a whole, how the hell am I even supposed to  _react_ to all of that? I hugged him into submission, he held my hand when I was sitting there trying to figure out how to comfort him, he cried on me, he cried in my bed, he cried himself to  _sleep_. What am I supposed to do? Am I even supposed to do anything?

I finish buckling up the belt I'd grabbed off of the nightstand and adjust my shirt one last time. Tiredly, I lift a hand up and run it through my hair, ruffling the [hair color] locks a bit as I saunter over to my bedroom door. Still in thought, I firmly grasp the knob and turn it so that I could pull it open. In a brief moment of clarity upon seeing black and white converse and checkered vans on the floor at different spots in front of my door, I glance up to Victor and Patrick, both of whom stood a good few feet apart. Patrick stood looming over me by a few feet, not hiding the fact that he was most likely trying to peep. It was obvious that he had been twisting and turning those  _same_  black rings that he religiously wore on his fingers, because he was still doing it when that fucking Cheshire-smile stretched across his face. Meanwhile, it seemed that Victor had busied himself with smoking a menthol and blankly staring at some family photos, none of them being of me or my family together, but rather distant relatives I had never met in person before. His head almost immediately snapped over so he could see me the second he heard the door creaking open.

"Glad you didn't let Belch drive off this time." I tell them

I look mainly at Victor as I abruptly raise a single hand to shove Patrick, hoping that I could get some breathing room. But, unfortunately, he didn't move an inch. Now resorting to other methods, I make my way over to Victor and take a moment to wipe my infected hand off on his red and black 'HELLBOY' sweatshirt. With a scowl he shoves my hand away, doing his best to wipe the imaginary sin off of his good sweatshirt.

"Don't infect me with second-hand Hockstetter." He snaps

Unfazed by Victor's actions or words, I move to pivot around to face Patrick, about to banish the walking omen himself from my household. Although, it seems that he was just waiting for me to look at him so he could properly try to press my buttons.

"I wanted to let him drive off." Patrick mentions, with a lick his lips from the corner of my eye "It's almost winter and it'd be fucking  _hysterical_  to watch you walk to school in the cold again."

"That's because you're a  _psychopath_ , Patrick." I reply, not missing a beat, "Now _get out of my house_."

I point my hand down the hallway in the direction of the stairs. Expectantly, I watch as he nonchalantly allows his arms to drop to his sides so that his hands can stuff themselves into the pockets of his dark skinny jeans. Patrick creeps over me, pure smugness spilling from his smirk as he passes me, making sure to bump shoulders with me as he goes. I almost go to swing at him right then and their as the rage once again ignites, but Victor stops me by the shoulder, and offers me his cigarette. With a small huff of frustration, I take the damn thing out of his hands and take a drag, starting off down the hallway and ultimately, after the twig boy who walks at a  _very_ slow pace. The smoke exits my mouth once again as I blow it out, my footsteps quietly thump behind Patrick's as I pass him, bumping shoulders with him just as he had done with me.

"Move faster." I hiss to him "Before you curse my house."

I take another drag as I continue past him. Patrick says nothing back to me as he continues at the same pace he was originally going at. I repress the urge to grab him by the jacket collar just as Victor had done earlier so that I could drag him over to the stairs and shove him down them. But I wouldn't do too well in prison if he died.

Honking begins to start up outside, signalling that Belch was finally starting to get impatient and had convinced an impatient Belch to let him start laying on the horn. I speed up just a bit more, my stride growing as I make my way over to the steps, that I quickly go thundering down. Once at the bottom, I take a few minutes to grab my all-time favorite [favorite color] sweatshirt out of the closet and a random pair of [color] [another color] converse. I take a few more drags of the cigarette I'd taken from Vic, trying to get as close to finishing it as I can because I knew that I was probably going to need the nicotine in my system to be able to deal with Patrick today. The honking outside begins to drag out, which was surely going to irritate my neighbors. So, I only put on my shoes and decided that I would put on my sweatshirt as I walked across my lawn.

Upon hearing either Patrick or Victor thumping down the stairs right behind me, I take a couple rushed steps over to the front door and grab the knob. The cold air hits me almost immediately as I take a final drag from the cancer stick, before flicking it off into the dewy grass on my lawn. Quietly I step outside, simultaneously slipping into the [favorite color] sweatshirt as I make my way across the lawn to exactly where I could hear the Trans-Am honking.

"Hurry the fuck up!" I hear Henry's gruff voice shout at me as the horn goes off a couple more times

I slip my arms into the sleeves and tug the sweatshirt on over my head. Now that I was able to see, I could see Henry's annoyed frown and deep-seated glare being shot at me from where he sat in the front seat. This, coupled with his voice, causes the previous night to begin bouncing around in my mind again.

"Trying," I reply, most likely a bit too quiet for him to hear

Henry leans his head out the open window with a squint as he either debates asking me what the hell I just said, or just tries to intimidate me for giving such a reply. He continues to stare at me for a moment longer, before breaking away to lay back in his seat with a pouty huff of anger. I approach the Trans-Am and casually pop the door open so that I could climb in. From the second I opened the door to sometime after Patrick had climbed in behind me, Henry had sat there scolding me like he did every other morning. Acting like he hadn't spent most of the night at my house the way he did. A small part of me felt a painful twinge at that thought, something that prompted me to tune him out to place a hand over my heart in order to make sure that I was indeed still alive and not dying. But eventually my usual exhaustion began to quickly set back in and I could feel the oncoming stress headache that lightly thundered inside my skull. Unfocused and disinterested, I scratch an itch that nagged me from where it rested in a spot on the back of my head.

"Are you even fuckin' hearin' me?" Henry suddenly hisses

My head raises and I give a tired yawn into my hand whilst the other falls into my lap. Henry's eye twitches as the veins around his reddening face and neck make themselves more present when I sink down into my seat and spread my legs out a bit more, giving myself some space.

"Yeah, Henry, I'm listenin'." I lie, tiredly

I can practically feel the rage radiating off of him in waves as he glares at me, probably debating my murder. It was kinda nice for things to be back to the normal, but it was a lot nicer to not have Henry screaming in my face for a few minutes last night. Quite refreshing, actually.

"Fuckin'— _Whatever!_ " He exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air and almost hitting the roof of the Trans-Am "I'm too tired for your shit."

'Me too,' I mentally reply, already tired, more tired than I already was physically, of hearing him dismiss over and over again. I just couldn't handle it when he did that, it made me feel so...tired, but for my feelings, yeah, tired for my feelings. Henry turns back around in his seat, instead focusing on swatting Belch's hands away from the horn which he had been laying on for the past few minutes. Henry slams his hand down on the horn a few more times and leans out the window.

"Let's fuckin' go, Vic!" He roars

Ignoring their antics, I allow my head to lull to the side and my eyes to close. Meanwhile, Patrick just snickers and snuus at me as he pesters me through the form of poking. Steadily growing more frustrated, I quickly sit up, taking a moment to shove him all the way over so that he's squished against the door. Finally, after a moment of deciding that he was far enough away, I remove my now disease-ridden hands and and wipe them on the back of Belch's seat, muttering something vile Patrick just cackles at and mocks me. Shortly after he'd moved back into his spot and quit messing with me, the door on Victor's side finally pops open. I glance up at him with a tired smile that held no true emotion as I accept my once-forgotten coffee.

"What took ya so long?" Belch asks, very obviously annoyed

"I wasn't gonna  _exercise_  my way out the door just because _you_ got impatient." Victor replies, doing a little running motion with his arms when he says the word exercising

"Thanks Vic." I thank whilst taking a sip of my coffee

"Fuck off, Vic." Henry cuts in "Let's just get today fuckin' over with."

Belch somehow manages to chuckle a bitter and passive-aggressive manor in a way that only he can. My ears once again twitch as he pulls the Trans-Am out of park and puts it into drive. Quietly, he pulls away from the curb, gripping the steering wheel for dear life whilst Henry fiddles with the radio, flipping through the different stations. My body grows light as I float around in the ocean of sleep, missing when my head managed to connect to Vic's shoulder as my body slumped to the left almost automatically.


	4. This isn't the routine

I was nearly halfway done with my coffee when Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot.

I had practically drilled through the damn thing whilst Belch, Patrick, and Victor busied themselves with exchanging a bit of conversation. Admittedly, said conversation was slightly forced when it came down it it. Of course this was all because Patrick—no matter the circumstances—always managed to swerve things towards somewheres questionable or sexual. It's not like he ever had anything terribly intelligent to say anyways when he got like this. Especially in the mornings when everybody's brains have been deep fried and packaged up to be sent to the store.

Well, at least that's the only way that I can really explain it.

Patrick always has managed to make me feel.. messy..? I guess??

It's hard to explain.

He just.. makes me feel is a mix of things, a cake batter mix of emotions and thoughts. All of them negative. I could swear up and down that Patrick could make anyone, man or woman, shake in his or her boots if he really wanted to; and he just about always wanted to. He honestly makes my head hurt and my stomach churn. He made my skin burn too. I can even promise that he almost managed to make me cry. It was around the time when I'd first begun to hang out with the gang. However, I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was that he did. I just know that he nearly made me cry and it was damn near impossible to make me want to cry, let alone actually fall through with it. But, I guess that was Patrick for you.

He could make your body feel ten times denser just by talking to you. He could say one word to you and as if he'd snapped his fingers, Bam! suddenly you feel like you're carrying a fully stocked refrigerator on your back. Hell, the guy even made my heart hurt. Everytime I try to breathe around him I get stabbed right in the heart with a sharp pang; and I don't mean the weird pangs that Henry makes me feel.

Henry.

My eyes drift away from Patrick's window, and over to the front passengers seat. There Henry rested, slumped over with his temple pressed against the window and his arms crossed over his chest. His gentle snoring was barely there enough to fill whatever quiet the others would land on after conversation gradually fell short every so often.

I took yet another sip of my coffee as I watched the visible lower half of his side as it rose and fell. 

Every breath he took in his slumber that prompted his chest to rise, also managed to lift the end of his black long sleeved shirt up. But with every exhale it always lowered itself back down to cover up his deep navy blue boxers and the black waist band they had.

I guess he did wear underwear after all.

I fail to catch myself before finishing that thought. I most likely visibly wince, and slap a hand over my heart as it's struck with the unique pang that only he could seem to force upon me. My eyes snap down to the carpeted ground in front of me.

"What's wrong with you?" Victor suddenly remarks

My head snaps over to him.

"What?" I ask, reflexively

I stare for a moment, trying to process his words. Victor always ended up mumbling at the most inconvenient times. Either that or this coffee wasn't doing terribly great with waking me up.

"Oh," I reply dumbly "Nothing, just swallowed too much and it hurt."

"Oh, did ya now?" Patrick's smug voice comes from behind me

I practically spin right around to glare some hatred fueled daggers at him. Patrick just grins, though, like he always did. A deep scowl replaces my blank expression as I bring the straw up to my lips and take it in my mouth. I bite the straw in order to keep myself from crushing the cup and getting coffee everywhere.

Of course his mind would drift to that. Ugh! He has to be kidding me with this shit!

Patrick's eyes shamelessly flicker down to my lips, where they linger for a moment. Before they returned back up to my eyes. I release the straw and swallow what's left of the coffee in my mouth.

"I'll shove you out of this car again." I threaten, my voice gruff from not having cleared it "Don't test me."

Patrick just smiles wider at me, saying nothing as the adrenaline pounds within my system. Confrontation such as this—especially with Patrick and the gang—always managed to make my body go into overdrive. It wasn't as easy as it looked, you know? Even though Patrick spent just about every day pushing my buttons it still got to me. And now with all the thoughts of Henry randomly showing up at my house last night, I just wasn't.. I was off my game.

Desperate to distract myself from my growing anger and the persistently looking exhaustion, I decided to look back up at Henry. He still slept very soundly in the front seat, in the same position that he was in when I'd originally looked away.

I take note of his dad's dark brown—nearly black bomber jacket that was currently balled up in his lap. It was the jacket that he almost always wore during the winter and on cold or chilly days if not mornings. I guess with Autumn rolling on to where it was growing closer to winter, it was time for him to start wearing it. His black leather jacket sure as hell wouldn't keep him warm enough.

My eyes linger on the jacket for a millenia as my thoughts swallow me whole. Those bruises.. they were real, weren't they? He really did come to my house and everything? I wasn't crazy? He must be so tired after all the tossing and turning that he did. Who knows if he even got any sleep at all. I sure as hell didn't, I was too sleep drunk to ask. Plus, Henry wasn't to cheerful when it came to being woken up. Not just that, but he was already giving me a hard time for most of the night anyway. I mean, I had to convince him until he finally showered. What kind of person needs to be convinced to shower?

Henry, apparently.

Regardless, unlike his leather jacket, the bomber jacket had a furry inside. That, and it was even decorated with bunches of patches. Said patches were divided up onto the chest part with two above the front two pockets and placed above and below each other. Meanwhile, there were more patches on the outer part of the sleeves.

It really must be warm.

I finally pull my attention off of the jacket and refocus it so that I could peer out the windshield. 

Ah, so we were finally pulling into the school parking lot.

Honestly, I couldn't be more thankful.

Don't get me wrong, I'm okay with hanging out with the gang and all; and I'm okay with getting a free ride to school every morning. But, it's just that I really needed to get out of this van before I suffocated. If it wasn't Patrick bugging me then it was me obsessing about Henry.

Perhaps I was worried?

Probably. Anyone with half a brain would be worried about The Great and Terrible Henry S. Bowers.

Which is why half the town didn't really care. That and most of the kids were afraid of him whilst the adults tended to stay out of it, like everything. Elliott Carter's dog got hit by a drunk driver last week and did anyone do anything? No.

Moving on, Belch didn't waste any time with parking. Although, he didn't slam on the breaks or harshly turn the wheel into whatever parking spot he decided on like he usually did whenever it came to mornings like these. Or any morning at all. Possibly because Henry was sleeping and if Belch did such a thing, let alone both of them, then Henry would most likely lose his shit.

No, instead, Belch gently parked Amy in her spot for the day, making sure that he took extra care in turning off the engine. Thankfully, Henry woke up at this, which meant that the guys and myself didn't have to play rock, paper, scissors to see who had to wake Henry up. This was the only way to keep Patrick from waking him up the second he fell asleep just to piss him off.

The last time—it being Tuesday—was Victor, who ended up getting an earful of practically unintelligible shouting and barking that lasted for almost a half an hour. The poor guy was pissed for days. He only just stopped being bitter about it on Saturday. The rest of us ended up making our way up to the school only to end up sitting and waiting on the sidewalk for them. Belch ended up mostly smoking, while I played with a stick I found—literally just pushing pebbles and stones around, and Patrick flicked his lighter open and closed.

We all watched Henry as he pushed himself up off of the door. He took a moment to rub his tired eyes.

"Mornin', Hank." Belch greets him

Victor and Patrick had already popped their doors open and climbed out by the time Henry had finally begun to mumble something back. He grabs his dad's jacket and pops his door open. He climbs out of the vehicle and slams the door shut, making his way up to the school as he slips on the aforementioned jacket. 

I linger for a moment longer to look up and meet Belch's eyes in the rearview mirror. He watched me with a worried face that Mama Huggins always gave him whenever we would come over to visit. 

"You sure you're up for today?" He asks "You look way more tired than usual."

I give a small shrug before I scoot over towards Victor's side. He'd left the door open for me to climb out, as he always did. At least he didn't make me climb out on Patrick's side like he used to before he started to tolerate me.

Belch sighs before finally popping his door open and climbs out alongside me, his keys jingling in his hand as he moves. When my feet hit the pavement below, I take my final sip from my cup, finishing my coffee completely.

"You take forever." Victor remarks, sighing

"I can take even longer if you want." I reply

Victor groans dramatically as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks up at the sky. As Belch shuts my door behind me, Victor spins on his heels and walks away from me. I glance over at Belch, who returns my shrug from before as he walks up beside me. His dark brown jacket that was sporadically littered in light brown spots—that we're most likely the effect of sun bleaching if not actual bleaching—floated in the wind as he walked. The dark brown strings of the hood we're even splayed out across his chest. This allowed his black and white Anthrax band shirt to be proudly displayed. Belch didn't bother tucking it into his gray blue stone washed jeans though; and he didn't bother tucking the ends said jeans into those hikers boots he always wore, even though he barely ever got to hike.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Henry demands

We all joined together on the sidewalk that lined the parking lot. Henry was impatiently waiting whilst Patrick was patiently waiting, for Victor, Belch, and I, to catch up to them. Patrick kept himself busy by tapping his foot and drumming a random beat on his thighs whilst he absent-mindedly chewed on his bottom lip. As Belch and I caught up with Victor, who caught up with Henry and Patrick, Henry finally glanced over at Patrick. Irritation was spread across his face clear as day, and a vein was already popping out of his forehead by the time he raised an eyebrow, a warning sign.

"Would you fuckin' stop?" Henry snaps

"Sure, Hank." Patrick replies, pausing his actions

He overdramatically turns his head to Henry as his arms freeze in place. He releases his bottom lip and instead grins his classic Cheshire grin.

"But when?" He whispers, loudly

Patrick goes back to drumming and turns his attention to the rest of us as Henry growls. He narrows his eyes at Patrick, who cheerfully tilts his head left and right every so often as he hums off key to an unnameable song. I break off from the boys to walk over to the trashcan where I throw my cup away. Of course, the guys had already started walking towards the building, leaving me to either jog or remain behind them. So of course I chose the sensible option.

Stay behind them because running to catch up requires effort.

I take my time to admire my surroundings. The groups of friends conversing amongst each other, the kids getting off the buses, the parents dropping their children off, that lady walking her dog, the clown holding a balloon—

The clown holding a balloon?

I do a swift double take and quickly realize that no, it was just the school mailbox with a red 'I 🖤 Derry' balloon attached to it.

Phew, that could've been weird.

Maybe I am tired?

My eyes continue to drift around the schoolyard, eventually landing and staying on Henry's back. He really did look tired, perhaps as tired as me. I take a moment to look over all of the guys, the only ones who appeared tired were Henry and Patrick, possibly Victor. Victor just wasn't as severe, I guess.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt and pull out my pack and lighter. I flick the pack open and bring it up to my lips so that I could take a cigarette out. After flicking the pack closed I took a moment to light the stick, taking a long drag before I finally put my lighter away. I bring my free hand up to remove the cigarette and let out my exhale of smoke. I continue to watch the boys—or more specifically, Henry—as they walk and talk about who knows what. The only thing that was different about the conversational situation this time, though, was that Henry was finally awake enough to be included. Sure, I couldn't tell what they were talking about now. But, I didn't exactly care all that much either. No, instead, I just brought the cigarette up to my lips and took another drag. It was here at this point where I took notice of the little limp that Henry walked with. I'm not sure the others noticed it. But, I sure as hell did.

But did he have it last night, though?

In all honesty, I couldn't help but wonder what had happened when he'd left me last night to go back home. After all, he'd spent most of the night tossing and turning in his sleep.

Henry abruptly stops in his tracks and spins around, meeting my eyes almost instantly. He looked nearly startled for a brief moment when he saw my unwavering stare. However, that didn't stop him from flipping the switch to go back to his usual demeanor.

"What the fuck is taking ya so damn long?" Henry barks "Move your ass, [Last Name]!"

The others follow suit in turning around to look at me. I sigh quietly before finally giving in and jogging to catch up with them. I stop in front of Henry, holding his gaze for a moment longer.

"What's with you, anyway?" He asks

It was a rhetorical question though, of course. So there was no sense in replying.

Henry randomly broke the eye contact, catching me off guard. It was then that that pang from earlier surged through my chest once again. In response, my hand reflexively snapped up to my chest. I had to stop in place for a moment—not that anyone noticed—my quiet gasp of pain was silenced almost immediately by the bustling community around me.

Today was gonna be hard.


End file.
